Les Passantes by Georges Brassens, translated by me

Yesterday I was driving to work alone and although the commute can be a bit of a drag (it's about 50min each way on a good day), going alone does mean I can listen to whatever music I like and sing along to my heart's content. As I was driving up one of the hills outside of Whittington, I went up through a little village called Welshfrankton, and the view of the valley below was absolutely breathtaking. The valley floor was covered in fluffy low clouds, with a few autumn trees and telegraph lines poking out, and the sun was shining brilliantly on it all (I was running late so couldn't stop to take a photo, but one day I will, I promise!).

To top it off one of my favourite French songs came on my iPod. It's called Les Passantes and it was written by a poet Antoine Pol, but the singer Georges Brassens made it famous through setting it to some absolutely brilliant music. The video below is of the song performed in duet with Maxime LeForestier (with some additional verses in which I didn't have on my copy of the track) on a show aired in 1979.

What I love about this song, is that a lot of Brassens' music is about rogue-ish men who are on the look out for a bit of fun with the ladies, watching them bathe naked in a fountain for example, and generally being 'lads' or even 'cons' (politely translated as a**holes, but it's generally quite a crude word), and his lyrics are funny, intelligent, and often vulgar explorations of these fun-loving characters and their antics. But this song (or poem rather) is so beautiful and gentle, and the melancholy, longing, and loneliness of these lyrics, especially when sung by such a rogue as Georges Brassens, who even called himself a 'voyou' (French for thug) gives a striking contrast to his usual style and tone.

Here is the original French with a translation (that I wrote a few years ago and have tweaked a bit since) after each verse. I've tried to keep some sort of rhyme, but it's nowhere near perfect - although I am quite proud of the last stanza. I hope you enjoy it. I haven't yet figured out a title that is as fitting as the original, but it literally means "The women who pass you by". Chapeau bas Monsieur Brassens! Hats off :)

Je veux dédier ce poème,
A toutes les femmes qu'on aime,
Pendant quelques instants secrets,
A celles qu'on connaît à peine,
Qu'un destin différent entraîne,
Et qu'on ne retrouve jamais.

I want to dedicate this poem
To all the women we love
For just a few secret moments,
To those you scarcely know,
Snatched away by a different fate
And who you'll never find again.

A celles qu'on voit apparaître,
Une seconde à sa fenêtre,
Et qui, presque, s'évanouit,
Mais dont la svelte silhouette
Est si gracieuse et fluette
Qu'on en demeure épanoui.

To those women that you see
Appear at her window,
For one second, fleetingly
Whose slender silhouette,
Is so graceful and delicate,
That you're overwhelmed, completely

A la compagne de voyage,
Dont les yeux, charmant paysage,
Font paraître court le chemin;
Qu'on est seul peut-être à comprendre,
Et qu'on laisse pourtant descendre
Sans avoir effleuré sa main.

To the travelling companion;
The world reflected in her eyes,
Makes the journey fly by;
Who, perhaps, only you understand,
And yet, you let her go,
Without even brushing her hand.

A celles qui sont déjà prises,
Et qui, vivant des heures grises,
Près d'un être trop différent,
Vous ont, inutile folie,
Laissé voir la mélancolie
D'un avenir désespérant.

To those who are not free,
And who live unhappily,
In an ill-suited pair,
They have, useless folly,
Let you see the melancholy,
Of a future of despair.

Chères images aperçues,
Espérances d'un jour déçues,
Vous serez dans l'oubli demain;
Pour peu que le bonheur survienne,
Il est rare qu'on se souvienne,
Des épisodes du chemin.

Cherished images seen but once,
One day's hopes all lost,
And tomorrow will be forgot;
Though joy may surprise us all,
It is rare that we can recall,
These moments from our travels.

Mais si l'on à manqué sa vie,
On songe; avec un peu d'envie
A tous ces bonheurs entrevus,
Aux baisers qu'on n'osa pas prendre,
Aux cœurs qui doivent vous attendre,
Aux yeux qu'on n'a jamais revus.

But if you have wasted your life,
You dream, with some regret,
Of all those pleasures glimpsed,
Of the kisses you dared not take,
Of the hearts that have to wait,
Of the eyes never seen since.

Alors, aux soirs de lassitude,
Tout en peuplant sa solitude
Des fantômes du souvenir,
On pleure les lèvres absentes
De toutes ces belles passantes
Que l'on n'a pas su retenir.

So, the evenings when you are weary,
You try to fill a life that is lonely,
With ghosts from your memory,
For the absent lips, you do cry,
Of those beauties who passed you by,
Those who you let slip away.